poetry archive

gingham dog and the calico cat
better than granite
i am the wind that wavers
once this soft turf
as i lie roofed in, screened in
the light withdrawn
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
all within and all without me
with her hair flaying wildly
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
it tells of good old times
there is no escape by the river
three years ago today
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes